


CHARLIE

by aspiringaspie



Category: Carrie - All Media Types, Carrie - Stephen King, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bullying, Child Abuse, F/M, High School, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Guilt, Slurs, its gonna be rough fellas, uhhhh its a carrie au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiringaspie/pseuds/aspiringaspie
Summary: What you need to understand is that we were just kids. Kids trying to do our best. We werekids.(An AU of sorts based off of Stephen King'sCarrie.)
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Dee Reynolds, Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	1. and i worry: what if i stand out one bit?

**Author's Note:**

> whoaaaa what the heck is this?!
> 
> heyyy so this is my FIRST fic in the sunny fandom aaaaa!! pls be nice with me bc this is the first time i've written these characters after binging the whole show and falling in love with it. i've wanted to do something based off of carrie for a while so uhhhh here it is!
> 
> TW FOR CHAPTER 1: references to dennis's csa, reference to drugs, bullying, homophobia, homophobic language (f slur, q slur)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _geez, shoot me, please!  
>  put me outta my pain!  
> am i a mess? (yes! yes! yes!)  
> totally insane!_

**_1994, Philadelphia, Saint Joseph’s Preparatory School_ **

**_On a Friday._ **

Mac McDonald ( _not_ Ronald McDonald or Ronnie the Rat) is many things. He is seventeen years old (turning eighteen this April); he is the coolest kid in school (and no, not because he’s his classmates’ primary weed dealer, but because he’s buff as shit and totally badass); he is longtime best friends with Charlie Kelly, the lamest kid in St. Joe’s (but that doesn’t matter to Mac, even if he _is_ popular and awesome). There are also many things he is not. For example, he is _not_ gay, a fact which is indisputable. Not once has he ever thought about sex with a dude, nor even jacking one off, not once. Mac is totally, 100% straight, and has banged more chicks than he can count, as he often boasts to Charlie.

(Dennis Reynolds, one of the coolest kids Mac’s ever met, hears the specific details of said sexual exploits, often when the two are sharing the bong Dennis stole from his father. Dennis has also had a lot of wild, crazy sex with chicks, even though Mac’s pretty sure he was raped in freshman year by the school librarian. They never talk about that, though.)

Mac is also not misogynistic. He doesn’t hate women; if that were true, he wouldn’t find them attractive or fuck them. Women are just inherently sinful. Mac knows the Bible, has read it front to back multiple times until his eyes burned. It is said that God created Man in His own image. A perfect specimen, incapable of sin, to indulge in the pleasures of the Earth and hold dominion over the animals. It is when Eve was tempted by the serpent that she bit the apple, condemning humanity for all time.

That’s exactly why Mac will never really date women. Neither will Dennis. There’s no point in getting emotionally involved with someone who will only lead Mac into sin, anyway. (Dennis’s reasons are admittedly different, but Mac thinks he’s full of shit — who doesn’t have _feelings_?) No, women are for sex only. Getting emotionally involved is for the boys, which is exactly why he makes as much of an effort as he can to avoid Dennis’s bird of a sister, Dee. The ugly bitch couldn’t do much in that back brace, anyway; all she does is complain about how much pain she’s in and lament on how unattractive she is.

Now isn’t the time to think about Dee of all people, though. Right now, Mac is much more focused on Dennis, who’s just helped them both win this round of dodgeball, thanks to Charlie’s incompetence. The two of them had been on opposing teams, and of course Mac would stick with Dennis. Dennis appreciates the attention, Mac noticed, and he would be lying if he said any sort of praise from the older teen doesn’t make his stomach flip.

But not in a gay way. In a totally platonic way.

Once the gym coach urges the boys into their locker rooms, Mac takes note of Charlie, who appears exceptionally filthy today. It’s no wonder everyone in school refers to him as Dirtgrub. His body odor is so putrid, a rumor had spread that Charlie bathes in mud and shit, and though he’s fairly certain the claim is false, Mac wouldn’t put it past him. His short friend — not quite 5’7 — shuffles awkwardly into the locker room, trying to limit contact with the other students as much as possible. Mac hears their snide remarks, the jeers and mocking words, remaining quiet. Getting involved could mean scrutinization of his own.

They don’t speak as Charlie starts to undress, movements sluggish. Dark bags sag under his eyes, evidence of little to no sleep. Mac doesn’t want to think of the implications this holds, of his friend’s home life. Bonnie and Jack Kelly always had rubbed him the wrong way.

Eyes dart back to Charlie, embarrassingly catching him in the very moment he tugs his shorts off. Rather than jerking his gaze away, though, Mac pales.

“Whoa, dude, what the fuck?!”

Charlie, suddenly smaller than he already is and so vulnerable, tenses up.

“Wha—?”

“You’ve got a boner, dude!”

And so he does. Shame creeps across Charlie’s features. He stumbles away from Mac, shaking his head.

“Oh shit,” he’s mumbling to himself, and Mac doesn’t know what to do. He’s frozen, rooted to the spot, everything seemingly happening in slow motion around him. “Fuck, oh God, u-um—”

“Whoa, is Ronnie the Rat blowin’ Dirtgrub?!”

Mac recognizes the voice as belonging to Tim Murphy. His heart thuds in his chest as he realizes that all the other guys in the room have focused their attention on Ronnie the Rat and Dirtgrub, ready to throw insults and god knows what else. It’s hard to think; Mac’s panicking, trembling. He’s not gay. _No, no NO._

“NO, I DIDN’T TOUCH HIM! HE’S THE ONE WHO WAS BEING A FAG, HE WAS RUBBIN’ UP AGAINST ME AND GOT ALL HARD!”

The words tumble out before he can stop them.

“Oh, _shit_. I had a feeling you were a fuckin’ queer, Dirtgrub.”

Mac’s stomach drops, holding his breath as the owner of the voice makes his way to the forefront - Dennis. The attention shifts from Mac then, all of their eyes on Charlie, naked and shrinking away from his classmates. 

“Look at his dick, ew it’s probably fuckin’ _diseased_!”

Dirtgrub cringes, hyperventilating; Mac is frozen, mouth half open. Everything seems to be happening so fast, and he sees his friend’s pain, the tears forming in his eyes. But he sees everyone else, their beady, demon eyes closing in on him, chanting _gay gay gay gay_.

“What— no, no!” Charlie finally speaks up then, and he’s approaching Mac, reaching out for support, for help. “Mac, tell them—”

“Don’t _touch_ me, dude!”

As if he’d been burned, Mac jerks himself away from Charlie, a reaction that prompts the group behind him to gasp and snicker. The two friends’ gazes lock, and in that moment, they both know that nothing will be the same. Any and all conflicting thoughts that arise within Mac are stuffed away, never to see the light of day. All he can think is: _Judas had betrayed Jesus._

Everything happens so fast, then. One moment, he’s shell shocked, staring at Charlie, those large emerald eyes staring up at him helplessly; the next, the others are piling onto the kid, a boy who Mac thinks is Adriano holding back his arms. Charlie’s screams shake Mac to the core, and through the crowd, he can see him squirming and kicking, desperate to escape his tormentors. For some reason, Mac’s dumbfounded, and unable to move. Still as a statue, mouth agape.

“ _GET OFF! NO, STOP, STOP STOP!”_

The teens just laugh, mockingly, amused as the short teen tries biting at them, growling like some feral animal.

And then Dennis is on top of him. Charlie stills, chest heaving, blubbering and shaking his head. Before he can protest, Dennis grabs his face with one hand and thrusts in his opened water bottle, grinning. _Enjoying_ the torture. Mac is thrust back into reality then, overwhelmed by nausea.

“DENNIS!” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own as he tries to push through the group, horrified as tears stream down Charlie’s cheeks, and he’s choking, _drowning_. Mac can’t reach him, he’s trying, hyperventilating, but he’s too weak, too fucking weak. “DUDE, STOP!”

Dennis either doesn’t hear him or ignores him, for instead of climbing off of Charlie, he keeps the bottle in place, pushing it further into Charlie’s mouth. The trembling worsens, his eyes rolling back as he gags.

“Come on, you fuckin’ faggot, take it,” Dennis guffaws, earning rousing shouts and cheers. His smile widens, clearly basking in his newfound popularity. Mac’s fairly certain he’s having a panic attack, gripping onto one of his classmate’s shirts. _Helpless_. “You probably sucked off the entire football team, huh?! Swallow it all, Dirtgrub! Fuckin’ cocksucker, take this down your throat, little bitch!”

They start chanting then, _swallow it swallow it_ , coupled with occasional _homo_ s and _faggot_ s. Charlie’s muffled noises are sickening, coupled with whimpers, sobs, and (oh God) Mac’s name. Mac falls to his knees, trying to fucking breathe, tugging at his hair. _Heavenly Father, I’m so sorry, oh God, forgive me, just make it stop, please I’m sorry I’m sorry-_

_POP!_

Mac is broken from his reverie, falling back onto his haunches. His classmates are also shocked, releasing Charlie instantly, and even Dennis scrambles off. It hadn’t only been the sound that alerted them — as their eyes flicker around wildly, they notice the hanging lamp overhead, shattered. Sparks had flown, and now, on the tiled floor a few feet from them, lies broken glass. 

Charlie, far too shaken to realize this strange phenomenon, spits out the bottle, hacking and coughing, curling into a fetal position and _sobbing_ . Dennis takes a shaky breath, eyes narrowing on Charlie, as if the light bulb bursting had been _his_ fault. Mac’s brows furrow, opening his mouth to speak.

“WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING IN HERE?!”

Miss Ranson. _Shit._ The teens scramble to their feet (all but Charlie). They stand there dumbly as their gym coach — a toned woman with short, blonde hair that Dennis abhors — enters, face red with fury.

“I heard screaming, you—”

Her gaze lands on Charlie, a pathetic, sniveling heap on the floor. The open bottle rolls towards him, the water spilling from it creating a puddle that reaches his form. If he feels it, he gives no indication of the sort, remaining where he lay, naked and quivering.

“Jesus _Christ_.” Letting out a huff, she kneels down beside the brunet, reaching out a hand to touch him. “Charlie…?”

“ _Sorry sorry sorry sorry I’m sorry Uncle Jack, please stop please hurts it huh-hurts…_ ”

She’s shocked into silence at those words. Despite Charlie’s voice being barely audible, soft and hoarse, everyone hears it. Mac’s blood runs cold; he almost throws up right there and then.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, a palm resting on his shoulder. “Charlie, it’s Coach Ranson, you’re at school. C’mon, we-we’re going to the nurse, okay?”

Charlie doesn’t protest. As if he’s detached himself completely, he allows himself to be pulled to his feet, leaning limply against his gym coach, stumbling as she wraps him in a towel. When the coach lifts her soft gaze from the teen, she is a picture of pure, unadulterated rage.

“All of you? _Detention_. Every day after school for the next week.”

Nearly all of the boys _groan._ Mac is too caught up in staring at Charlie, how weak and broken he looks, to react.

“Hey, hey, you can’t do that!” Dennis speaks up, because of course Dennis fucking Reynolds would. “This was all Mac’s fault!”

That gets Mac’s attention. His head pops up, jaw dropping. God damn it, of course Dennis would go against him.

“What? Dude—”

“No, no, you _definitely_ started it,” Dennis cuts him off, arms folded over his chest, and he doesn’t even care that Charlie’s still shaking where he stands, barely able to keep himself upright. “You’re the one who called him a fuckin’ fag, dude!”

Mac’s mouth runs dry. “W-Well, yeah, ‘cause it’s the truth!”

“I DON’T CARE WHO STARTED IT!” Coach Ranson shouts, breaking up the pair’s feud. They pale, shifting nervously. “I expect to see you all in detention. Keep it up, and I won’t be afraid to ban you shitheads from Prom. Now clean up this mess and get to class.”

The group is stunned to silence. Without another word, she storms off with Charlie, shooting a dirty look towards Mac. He can see the red in her eyes, imagine the horns growing from her head. 

_God will judge you for this, Ronald McDonald._

His classmates joke about the incident, their arms wrapping around Mac in a friendly gesture, but he doesn’t notice. Even as he’s seated in his next class, in the back, he’s not...there. Detached. Lost. Guilt gnaws at his stomach.

A glance to his left. There’s an empty desk where Charlie usually sits.

 _Forgive me_ , Mac prays to himself, silently, burying his face in his hands. _I had to. Forgive me, God, I had to. I’m not a sinner. I’m not weak. God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._


	2. i will not cry; i'm okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _sometimes their hatred is out of control  
>  god, how they hurt me  
> mama says suffering is good for the soul  
> but they hurt me..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owowowow chapter 2... it's time for a chapter from charlie's pov!! not a lotta stuff happens here but it's a bad time for ya boy charles :((
> 
> tw this chapter: homophobic slurs, disassociation, panic attacks, mild emetophobia, allusions to csa (uncle jack)

Drowning.

Drowning.

_Drowning._

The world melts away, like the way snow melts in springtime, and despite no longer gasping for air and being forced to choke on water, Charlie Kelly is drowning. He’s already given up the initial struggle, probably. It’s not like he’s ever drowned before, so he wouldn’t really know, but breathing is hard, and he feels submerged. Floating in nothingness, the vast ocean. Or maybe space, like he’s the alien Ripley released from her ship. The monster no one wanted. Floating, floating, lost forever. He’s not sure who led him from Dennis and his minions, but it’s not his mom; the voice (a woman’s, he thinks?) is too soft, too genuine. He knows for a fact that it isn’t his uncle’s either; her touch is gentle, her hands dainty, not roaming along his body too fast for him to catch up, to try and pry them off, to plead to _stop._

At some point, the not-mom, not-uncle person without a face dresses him. There’s the familiar fabric of his oversized pants that he has to wear for school, his school sweater, littered with holes and stains and reeking of weed, hanging from him. (Despite it being March, his mother could never afford more than two different uniforms for him, both of which are far too big for his small body.) It’s not his ideal clothing choice, but it’s _safe_ , and his muscles ache as if he’s run laps, eyes burning worse than when he got spray paint in his eyes that one time. It’s not important, though, because he isn’t naked anymore. His barriers have been rebuilt, his shield of body odor and chemicals reconstructed. Air rushes into his lungs — had he not been breathing? — grubby ( _Dirtgrub Dirtgrub_ ) hands clutching his own shirt, as if it’s anchoring him, keeping him grounded in the real world. For the second time that day, and without warning, he breaks down, small body curling up and trembling with his sobs. Arms attempt to encircle him, claws emerging from the darkness. Charlie flinches away, begging to be left alone, because he can see him, can see the _Nightman_ , and he needs to huff glue and smoke weed and get drunk until he can’t think or feel or do anything.

Like the sudden jump cut of a movie, he’s sitting in the principal’s office. There’s a cup of water in his hand, which he downs quickly, apparently rather thirsty. Throwing the cup to the floor, Charlie’s dull green eyes survey the room, the dust gathering on the shelves, the American flag in the corner. Many times he and Mac have been sent here, whether it was due to a fight Mac started because someone insulted his father or called him a clown, or if Charlie had once again taken a (literal) bite out of one of his classmates. More often than not, these instances ended up with at least one of them bloody and bruised, and both of them suspended.

This is different, though, Charlie can tell. For one, Principal Altomare is not sitting at the desk, glaring at the teen like he’s the number one suspect in a murder. The somewhat threatening, balding man isn’t in the room at all, in fact, and Charlie assumes for a brief, panic-filled moment that he’s been locked in the office to starve and die. It’s Friday, after all, and no one goes to school on the weekend except stupid nerds and band kids. A humiliating, but fitting way for him to go, he thinks. Mac would make sure he got out safe, though. Mac always had his back. Where the hell _is_ that bastard, anyway? Charlie’s head is all fuzzy, and not in the good way that happens when he overdoses in spray paint or drinks too much bleach.

Seconds go by, and he _remembers._

_You’ve got a boner, dude!_

_Oh,_ shit. _I had a feeling you were a fuckin’ queer, Dirtgrub._

_Swallow it all, Dirtgrub! Fuckin’ cocksucker, take this down your throat, little bitch!_

Charlie almost doesn’t make it to the trash can in time, stumbling and falling to his knees before it, vomiting loudly and violently, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the container. Fucking _fuck._ All of them forcing him to the floor, grabbing him ( _nonononono_ ), Dennis forcing him to choke and drown with that too-familiar sadistic smile and lifeless eyes, and _Mac…_

Mac let it happen. Mac started it. _Mac started it Mac started it—_

“…Mr. Kelly.”

Jolting back, Charlie falls onto his elbows with a loud thunk, the pain muted, no worse than the ache of an old bruise. The voice of his principal had startled him, shaking him from the memories and the nausea, brought on by how they’d hurt him and worse than usual; worse than when he and Mac wrestled, so much worse and it hurt and no matter how many times he—

Shit, he’s doing it again, isn’t he? Blinking, eyes having glazed over, he drags himself to his feet, along with the filth that follows him, the arms and legs and head that don’t even feel like they belong to him anymore.

“Sorry.” Charlie doesn’t even realize that it was he who had spoken; the voice is broken, hoarse, and so un-Charlie it kinda scares him. “‘Bout… the throw up.”

Principal Altomare glances to said trash can, crinkling his nose, and Charlie expects to be insulted and be given detention for the next month or something. But no; instead, the man looks upon the teen with… pity? It’s the same look Mac gives him whenever Charlie tells him that he still wets the bed sometimes (it keeps his uncle from sleeping next to him, but it’s almost a habit at times now). Strangely enough, he feels smaller than he already is under the man’s eyes. Why couldn’t he have broken the rules instead? He can’t own up to being the pussy who got his ass kicked, and now everyone’s gonna know, even the all-girls school Dennis’s sister goes to.

( _Dennis was on top of me drowning me he laughed like a cartoon villain he’s a fucking psycho oh my God_ )

“Not a problem, Charlie,” the principal assures Charlie, who just nods, not really hearing him, and makes his way back to the chair he was in before. As the man takes his spot behind his desk, releasing a sigh in the process, someone else enters the room. Oh — it’s Miss Ranson. She’d been the one who helped him get dressed, hadn’t she? 

_Don’t touch me dude!_

A full body shudder overwhelms him. Charlie buries his face in his hand, rubbing his eyes, chewing his bottom lip hard enough that he tastes copper. He’s grown accustomed to the taste of blood, and he really doesn’t like it.

“Now, I must say, I’m surprised to see you here, Charlie,” Principal Altomare speaks, finally. Charlie looks up from his palms, knee bouncing. Miss Ranson observes, leaning against the door. “Well, at least for something new, anyway. What your classmates did to you in the locker rooms earlier. Matthew Mara told us the full story.”

 _Rickety Cricket._ Had he been there too? Charlie wants to throw up again. He wants to go home and sleep all weekend.

“I know you and your friend, Ronald” — Charlie wants to fucking sob, wants to run right out of the office and run out of the school and hide in the sewers with the rats — “have instigated quite a few fights around the school, but not even you two would do something like this. Is it true that Dennis Reynolds was hurting you? Did Ronald start it?”

He just barely represses a gag at Dennis’s name. Wrapping his arms around his too-thin body, rocking in his chair, trembling. Fuck Dennis. Fuck Mac. Fuck them. Fuck them. It wasn’t his fault that his body did that, he didn’t know it could happen, he didn’t know. He wasn’t horny because of Mac, he wasn’t even _horny_ , it just happened and he couldn’t stop it. Why can’t he ever _stop it_?

“He’s still in shock.”

That’s probably his gym teacher, and she sounds closer, like she’s sitting next to him. 

“Well… regardless, all of your classmates will be attending detention after school every day next week. As for your P.E. periods, you can spend them in study halls from now on. Understood?”

Charlie nods again. It’s all he really can do. Just nod and go along with it, even if he can’t hear their words, even if his ears are rushing with blood and all he can hear are Dennis and Mac’s voices.

“Now after what happened, I think it’s best that I call your guardians—”

 _That_ he hears clear as crystal. Jerking his body up, the chair skidding with the movement, Charlie shakes his head wildly. His mother cannot know about this. His uncle… 

“ _No_ . N-No, I’ll just-just wait for school to let out, and walk home.” His mouth is moving, but the voice isn’t his. He doesn’t control it. It’s just a ghost, a _ghoul_ , controlling him for a little bit. This happens sometimes when it’s too hard to speak, when words are much harder to form than usual. “They, uh, don’t need to know.”

“Son, you were hurt by your classmates, I think it’s best—”

“ _They don’t need to know._ ”

Miss Ranson rests her hand on the principal’s shoulder, and that’s the final straw for Charlie. He can’t stay in that room a second longer, sliding off of his chair, wobbling unsteadily on his feet. Walking to the door is a challenge, but the moment he’s free, he’s running, _sprinting_ towards his locker. It’s between periods, thankfully, so no one’s in the halls, meaning he won’t have to face any more ridicule, or insults, or forceful touches, or Dennis pushing him around and calling him a “fag”, or Mac… 

_Mac._

When the final bell rings, Charlie realizes he’s curled into a ball in his locker, face wet with tears. Fuck. He hopes his mom doesn’t notice. Maybe she’ll be in a good mood today.

Hurriedly, he makes his way out of his locker, intent on leaving before the hallways are filled with his classmates, before someone says _Hey, Dirtgrub, I heard about what happened in the locker rooms, did you really try to fuck Ronnie the Rat_ and Charlie’s brought to tears again. He’ll just tell his mom he’s not feeling well, he’ll fake a fever—

“Charlie!”

Oh, fucking shit. _Mac._ Swallowing hard, Charlie bows his head and walks faster towards the exit, forcing himself to focus on anything _else_ but Mac. Mac, who pushed him away. Mac, who didn’t give a shit when Charlie was being hurt and screaming and _fucking dying._

“Hey, dude,” comes Mac’s voice again, and he’s closer, having jogged up behind Charlie. The short teen doesn’t respond, back turned to the other, but Mac doesn’t relent. Charlie wants to claw out his eyes, wail at the top of his lungs. “Uh… I hope you’re not upset about what happened earlier.”

( _of course i am you motherfucker o god i thought we were friends i can’t do this mac i can’t be fucking alone_ )

“Uh… just, y’know, I couldn’t have the other guys thinkin’ I was a fag or anything.”

Charlie’s grip on his old, torn backpack’s straps tighten. His head buzzes, hands shaking with fury, hot tears of anger spilling from tired eyes. He’s so tired. So tired of everything. He wants to curl up into nothingness, to disappear, to run away and find people who won’t lie to him and won’t pretend to be his friend and won’t kick him to the curb and won’t abandon him and will be there. He has no one, and he is no one. He’s nothing but a _Dirtgrub._

“ _Fuck off, man_.”

Mac stops following him then, and Charlie can hear him from a distance, calling out, “Charlie, come on, bro!” in vain. Charlie won’t turn around. Not for a liar. Not for a friend who’ll push him and sit back like a fucking coward.

Someone bumps into him as he exits school grounds, laughs and tells him to watch where he’s going stupid _Dirtgrub._ His name doesn’t matter anymore. He wishes he could show them who he is, show them all the pain and emptiness and everything, shove it in their stupid fucking faces. Oh, God. He can’t be alone. 

Far from his school, he throws his head back and _screams_. The ground rumbles beneath him; a crack forms in the pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOY did this chapter take a lot of time. i did quite a bit of digging into canon and what high schools the gang went to, and i figured i'd have it that they went to an all boys and girls school and had to wear uniforms (hence charlie wearing a uniform here). as always, im open to feedback so pls don't be afraid to comment!


End file.
